THE FRIDAY KEY (ONLY SEX COLLECTION)

THE FRIDAY KEY ONLY SEX · BOOK 2

1. Nine Years and a Routine

Marta turned thirty-eight in March and celebrated with a supermarket birthday cake and two children shouting in the living room. Javier was forty-one, with a mortgage, a steady job and a sex life that fitted neatly into Saturday nights between eleven and midnight, with the television switched off and the bedroom door bolted in case one of the children got up for a glass of water.

They loved each other. That had never been in doubt. But after nine years of marriage, desire had become a pleasant, almost administrative habit: a kiss on the way out, a hand on a hip while passing through the kitchen, an unhurried shag on Saturdays that always ended the same way, him first and her afterwards, followed by a whispered ‘I love you’ before they each fell asleep on their own side of the bed.

Marta sometimes thought about it in the shower, her hand between her legs and the water running down her back. She touched herself while imagining things she never told Javier. Men who weren’t Javier. Situations they’d never experienced. And she came with her forehead against the tiles and a sweet pang of guilt in her chest, as though she were betraying him just a little every time.

Javier did the same, though with less ceremony. He wanked on the sofa when she went to bed early, imagining tits that weren’t Marta’s, arses that weren’t Marta’s, anonymous, willing mouths. He never told her. Neither did she tell him. Deep down, each thought the other was more conservative than they really were.

They met Ana and Sergio at a barbecue hosted by mutual friends in June, at a house on the outskirts with a swimming pool and mosquitoes. Ana was thirty-six, a physiotherapist who said little and watched a great deal. Sergio was forty-five, an architect who laughed loudly and gestured with open hands as though measuring rooms. They sat together because there was nowhere else, and by their third beer they were swapping jokes and talking about schools and mortgages as though they’d known one another for years.

It took Marta a few seconds to recognise Ana. They had met seven years earlier at the hen party of Clara, a friend with whom they’d both lost touch. That night they had ended up talking alone in the kitchen while the others danced. Ana confessed she was tired of people who were ashamed of their own desires, and Marta admitted there was something important she’d wanted to tell Javier for a long time but couldn’t find the words. Nothing happened between them. They said goodbye at dawn and didn’t meet again. When Ana recognised her, she held Marta’s gaze for a moment but didn’t mention that conversation in front of the men. Neither did Marta.

It was Sergio who, once the others had gone to the pool, came out with the remark that changed everything.

‘We’ve been swapping partners for five years.’

He said it just like that, without any introduction, while biting into a spare rib.

Javier nearly choked. Marta stopped with her glass halfway to her lips.

‘Seriously?’ she asked.

‘Seriously,’ said Ana, smiling for the first time all afternoon, a slow smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. ‘With couples, the occasional single friend, in clubs, at home. Whatever takes our fancy.’

‘Don’t you get jealous?’ Javier persisted.

‘At first,’ Sergio admitted. ‘Then it passes. Or you learn to live with it and even get turned on by it. Because that happens too, you know. Jealousy can make you bloody horny. Seeing your wife with another man, getting that knot in your stomach ... and having a cock as hard as a rock at the same time. That’s the best part.’

Marta could feel her nipples hardening beneath her summer dress. She looked at Javier and caught him looking straight back at her. With that sudden certainty couples sometimes have, she knew they were thinking exactly the same thing.

On the way home, Javier couldn’t stop talking about Sergio and how astonishingly easy it had been for the couple to discuss their experiences. Marta listened. She nearly told him she already knew Ana, but explaining why she remembered a conversation from seven years ago so vividly seemed too difficult. She decided she’d tell him if they met again. What she hadn’t imagined was how soon that would be.

2. The Dinner

Three weeks passed before they met again. Ana was the one who sent the message. It was short: Dinner at ours on Friday. Come hungry. She attached a photograph of the laid table: four plates, four glasses and an already opened bottle of wine. At the edge of the picture, almost out of shot, lay two old-fashioned keys, each with a red thread tied through its ring. Marta enlarged the photograph but didn’t ask about them.

Marta made more of an effort than usual. She removed all her body hair, put on underwear she hadn’t worn for months — black lace that fitted tightly around her hips — and chose a dress that rode up slightly when she sat down. Javier noticed the lingerie when she bent to pick up her shoes, and his cock went hard in an instant, just as it used to when he was twenty.

They arrived at nine. Ana and Sergio’s flat was spacious and welcoming, with candles burning and music playing softly. Sergio opened the door wearing an apron and carrying a bottle of Rioja. Ana appeared behind him, her hair up and a long dress clinging to her hips as she walked.

While Javier left their coats in the hall, Marta spotted the two keys from the photograph on a wooden tray. They were small, made of tarnished brass, with red thread around their rings. Ana noticed her looking, picked them up without a word and put them in a drawer. Marta had the impression that the gesture had been intended for her to see.

Before the main course, Ana asked Marta to help her carry some serving dishes into the kitchen. Once they were away from the men, there was no need to pretend they were meeting for the first time. Ana remembered Clara, the hen party and their conversation beside the fridge perfectly. Marta asked whether the invitation had anything to do with that night. Ana shook her head: their meeting at the barbecue had been pure chance. This dinner was an invitation from all four of them, not an old debt between the two women. And if anyone preferred to leave after coffee, nobody would ask for an explanation.

When they returned to the dining room, Ana paused behind Marta’s chair to set down a dish. Marta recognised her perfume and looked up. Ana smiled without saying anything. That closeness, almost unnoticed by the men, made the conversation that followed seem less like a game among strangers and more like an invitation to discover how much they had changed since their first meeting.

Marta returned to the table feeling calmer. She’d feared Ana might think she had the right to direct whatever happened. Instead, Ana had treated her as someone capable of making her own choices. That distinction would become important as the night unfolded.

The food was good and the wine even better. They talked about everything except what was really on their minds, until the third glass loosened Marta’s tongue and, cheeks flushed, she asked:

‘And ... how did you start? The first time, I mean. Who was it with?’

Sergio put down his fork.

‘With some friends at a country house. We played a question game. Absolutely daft. And we ended up with all four of us in the same bedroom.’

‘And what happened?’ Javier asked.

‘What happened was that Ana watched me fucking the other woman and didn’t mind,’ Sergio said plainly. ‘And I saw her with the other bloke and got so hard I nearly came just from watching.’

Ana laughed, glass in hand.

‘Then we all did it together. In the same bed. It was a complete shambles, to be fair. But a wonderful shambles.’

‘And now?’ Marta leaned forwards slightly, opening up her neckline. ‘How do you do it these days?’

‘We’re a bit wiser now,’ said Ana. ‘Clear rules, and then ... whatever happens.’

‘Condoms always, except between the two of us. We talk about everything and nobody gets angry. If anyone feels uncomfortable, they say so and we stop. And if you fancy something, you ask.’

Marta appreciated the clarity. She didn’t want a night spent guessing what everyone expected of her. Javier, who had arrived worried about seeming jealous or clumsy, discovered something else troubled him: he cared less about impressing Ana than about seeing the expression on Marta’s face when the questions stopped.

There was a silence. The music kept playing. Sergio poured everyone more wine, although nobody had asked for any.

‘Fancy a game?’ Ana suggested. ‘The same one. No strings attached. If nothing happens, nothing happens.’

‘What sort of game?’ Marta asked, her voice a little huskier than she’d intended.

‘Questions. We take turns. If you don’t want to answer, you drink. And if you do answer ... you drink too, but differently.’

They laughed. And began.

Ana started with Javier.

‘How many women have you slept with?’

‘Seven. Including Marta.’

‘And how many would you like to add?’

Javier looked at Marta. Then at Ana.

‘Right now, one.’

It was Sergio’s turn.

‘Marta. When was the last time you touched yourself while thinking about somebody other than your husband?’

Marta felt heat rise to her face.

‘Tuesday.’

‘And who were you thinking about?’

‘You,’ she said, and didn’t take a drink.

Marta waited until she’d finished speaking before looking at Javier. She had stopped waiting for somebody else to interpret what she wanted. Across the table, Ana recognised something of the woman she’d listened to seven years earlier. Sergio, so accustomed to taking the lead, found himself without a ready answer for the first time.

The game gathered speed. The questions became more specific. Do you like sucking cock? Do you like having your pussy licked? How many times can you come in a row? Have you ever fucked in a car? Do you like being watched? The answers grew more honest, dirtier, more intimate, until it was no longer a game but a collective confession, with half-full glasses and hands drifting ever closer.

Sergio got up to change the music and brushed Marta’s shoulders with his hands as he passed behind her. She didn’t pull away. Ana sat on the arm of the sofa near Javier and rested a hand on his knee while asking him something unimportant. He felt the heat of her fingers through his trousers as though they were burning him.

It was Ana who really broke the ice. She leaned over and kissed Javier. A long, wet kiss, tongues meeting, in full view of everyone. Marta watched them, her heart pounding against her ribs, and felt warm wetness between her legs. Then Sergio’s hand settled on the back of her neck, turning her face towards him, and his kiss came: different, more forceful, tasting of wine and something deeper.

When they drew apart, all four were on their feet, breathing strangely, their pupils dilated.

‘Shall we move into the lounge?’ Sergio said. ‘The sofa’s more comfortable.’

3. The First Swap

The lounge had a large sofa, a thick rug and warm lamplight. They sat down. No more questions were needed.

Ana kissed Javier again, and this time she didn’t hold back. She ran her tongue over his lip, bit it gently, placed a hand on the back of his neck and then his chest before moving down to his belt with practised fingers. Javier, whose hard cock had been pressed against his pants for half an hour, let out a moan when she undid his button and slipped her hand inside.

‘Bloody hell,’ Ana whispered, gripping him. ‘You’ve got a lovely thick cock.’

Beside them, Sergio already had Marta sitting on his lap, her dress hitched up to her hip. He kissed her hungrily while stroking her thighs over her knickers. Marta’s head was tipped back and she was breathing through her mouth. When Sergio’s hand reached the lace and pulled it aside, she moaned aloud, without embarrassment, at the first direct touch to her clitoris.

‘You’re soaking wet,’ Sergio said, almost admiringly. ‘Is that because of me, or because you’re watching your husband with another woman?’

‘All of it,’ she gasped. ‘All of it, fuck.’

Javier heard her and nearly came in Ana’s hand. He turned and saw his wife with her skirt up, her knickers pushed aside and another man’s fingers inside her. A stab of jealousy rose through his chest and made his cock even harder, exactly as Sergio had described. It was true. Jealousy made you want to fuck.

Ana knelt on the rug in front of him, pulled down his trousers and pants in one movement and gazed at his cock as though it were a dish she particularly fancied. Then, without further ado, she took it into her mouth, all the way down, with a skill Javier wasn’t used to. He had to grab the sofa to keep his balance.

From Sergio’s lap, Marta turned and watched them. She saw her husband with his cock in another woman’s mouth, his eyes closed and his own mouth hanging open, and a wave of heat swept through her entire body. Sergio took advantage of her distraction to slip two fingers inside her, curling them upwards to find precisely the right spot. She writhed and spread her legs wider.

‘Look at them,’ Sergio whispered in her ear. ‘Look properly. And tell me whether you like it.’

‘I do,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘I like it a lot.’

Marta drew away from Sergio a little. She wanted to see Javier’s face, but she also needed a few seconds to grow accustomed to all four of them sharing this decision. She slid down onto the rug and Sergio sat opposite her. Ana left Javier on the sofa and moved around the couple without announcing herself. Until then Marta had been following everyone else’s lead. She closed her eyes to make sense of what she was feeling.

Then she felt something different. A movement behind her head. Soft footsteps on the rug. And suddenly, fingers in her hair.

Marta opened her eyes. She didn’t move. The fingers travelled slowly but firmly across her scalp, separating the dark strands stuck to her forehead. They were a woman’s fingers. Slender, warm, with nails barely grazing her skin. Ana.

Marta couldn’t see her. Ana was behind her, kneeling or crouching — she couldn’t tell. All she could feel was that hand in her hair, stroking her as one might stroke an animal that had finally surrendered. She didn’t push it away. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to.

Sergio lifted his head and looked past Marta at Ana. Marta saw his pupils widen and his jaw tighten for a second. The entire scene assembled itself in her mind without her needing to see it: Sergio’s wife kneeling behind her, caressing her hair while Javier watched from the sofa. That unexpected gesture had rearranged the four of them without anyone giving an order.

‘You look gorgeous like this,’ Ana murmured close to Marta’s ear. ‘All open, waiting.’

Marta swallowed. She couldn’t tell whether Ana meant the words for her or for Sergio. She didn’t know whether that caress was meant to soothe her, display her, stake a claim or share her. Ana’s hand moved from her scalp to her neck and then her shoulder, where it rested, gently squeezing her skin.

‘Don’t rush her,’ Ana said, now addressing Sergio. ‘Let her get used to it.’

Sergio was still watching both women. Marta saw him swallow, the movement of his Adam’s apple. Then he looked her straight in the eye again. He had stopped issuing the instructions that had seemed so natural to Marta since the beginning of the evening.

‘Do you like it?’ Sergio asked quietly.

Marta didn’t answer immediately. Ana’s hand remained on her shoulder, her fingers tracing slow circles on her skin. From the sofa Javier watched them with an expression Marta had never seen on his face. Suddenly she remembered a kitchen, a hen party and that conversation with Ana seven years earlier, when she’d confessed how difficult it was to speak about her own desires.

‘Yes,’ she said at last, barely above a whisper. ‘I like it.’

Ana smiled. Marta couldn’t see her, but she felt it: a change in the air, in the pressure of the fingers on her shoulder. Then the hand moved down her arm to her elbow and slowly withdrew, as though reluctant to let go completely. Marta’s skin burned where she’d been touched.

Ana moved to her side. Marta turned towards her and they came face to face, so close that surprise showed in both their eyes. Javier stayed seated. Sergio didn’t move either. For the first time since the game began, the two men waited for Marta to decide what she wanted to do.

Ana leaned in and nibbled Marta’s earlobe. Then she licked her neck, her chin, and finally sought her mouth. They kissed. It was different from kissing Sergio: wetter, more impatient, Ana’s tongue pushing into her mouth as though she wanted to teach her something there, too.

When they drew apart, Marta left a hand on Ana’s arm and turned to Javier. She didn’t need him to tell her what to do, but she wanted to know he was still comfortable. Javier held her gaze and nodded. It was Marta who then took Ana’s hand and held it between both of hers for a moment. She had begun the evening afraid of her husband’s reaction; now she was the one deciding what happened next.

‘Then let’s go to bed.’

They went into the bedroom. The bed was large. They undressed amid kisses and nervous laughter, and for a moment there was that inevitable pause when four adults try to get naked at once: shoes that wouldn’t come off, zips that jammed. But as soon as all four were naked, the hesitation disappeared by itself.

There was an unopened box of condoms on the bedside table. Ana placed it where everyone could see it and reminded them they could stop whenever they wished. That brief, almost practical intervention dispelled Javier’s last trace of unease: nobody expected him to do more than he wanted.

No one needed reminding of that rule again. Keeping it allowed them to carry on without doubt or alarm, and each of them confirmed their agreement again before proceeding.

Marta looked at Ana. She had a toned, gym-honed body, small firm tits and a shaved pubis. Ana looked back at Marta’s fuller curves, her large, pendulous breasts and broad hips. They liked what they saw. They moved together and kissed, more gently than before, while Javier and Sergio watched, each holding his cock like a teenager.

Then things really began.

Sergio laid Marta on her back and spread her legs. He knelt between them and ran his tongue slowly up and down her pussy. Marta gripped the sheets and moaned. Sergio’s tongue felt different from Javier’s. Broader, slower, more persistent. He sucked her clitoris, nibbled it gently, slipped his tongue inside her and returned to her clit. Marta came in less than two minutes, her hips raised, with a cry that surprised everyone, herself included.

‘Fuck, Marta,’ Javier said from the other side of the bed.

Ana was straddling him, taking his cock inside her little by little, and her pussy gripped him so tightly he could barely think straight. But he was watching his wife. Seeing her come with another man’s mouth between her legs struck him as the most beautiful and dirtiest sight of his life.

Ana began to move on top of him. Slowly at first, then faster, her tits bouncing and her hands braced against his chest. Javier caught her by the hips and helped her ride him, thrusting upwards as the slap of skin against skin mingled with Marta’s moans.

Sergio moved up Marta’s body, sucked her tits and licked her nipples, then knelt between her legs and took hold of his cock.

‘Yes?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Marta said. ‘Put it in me.’

He entered her with a single thrust. Marta arched her back. His cock was thicker than Javier’s, perhaps not longer but fuller, filling her in a different way, and she felt every inch as it went in. Sergio stayed completely still for a second, buried inside her, looking into her eyes.

‘Fuck, you feel good.’

‘Move,’ she said. ‘Move now.’

And he did. Hard, rhythmically, gripping her hips and pulling her towards him with every thrust. The bed creaked. Marta’s tits moved with each impact, her mouth open and her eyes fixed on Javier, less than a metre away, fucking Ana while looking back at her.

They looked at each other. Both of them. While two other bodies fucked them. And they smiled, a smile that said everything: this, this is what we’ve been missing.

Javier realised his expectations had been wrong. He’d come to dinner imagining that Ana would command all his attention, but the image that would stay with him from that bedroom had his own wife at its centre. Marta, meanwhile, wasn’t thinking of obeying another of Sergio’s instructions or following Ana’s example. She was thinking about the new possibility of choosing what happened next herself.

Ana came first, on top of Javier, her pussy tightening around him in waves. He held on because he wanted to last, because he didn’t want it to end. But seeing Marta begin to come again, with Sergio thrusting into her and calling her ‘gorgeous’ and ‘my dirty little slut’, was too much. He came with a growl inside Ana, who stayed still on top of him, feeling him fill her.

Sergio lasted a little longer. When he felt Marta clench around him, he pulled out, gave his cock a few strokes and came across her belly, her navel and her tits, with a long groan.

All four lay motionless, sweating and breathless.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Marta.

And they laughed. All four of them. With that soft, happy laughter that comes afterwards.

As they said goodbye, Ana accompanied Marta into the hall. She opened the drawer, took out one of the brass keys and placed it in Marta’s palm. It was a copy of her front-door key, she explained, but not an invitation to turn up unannounced: if they wanted to come back, all four would have to discuss it. ‘And above all, talk it through with Javier before you use it.’ Marta closed her fingers around the key. Ana didn’t mention the hen party. One look was enough.

At the other end of the hall, Sergio was helping Javier put on his jacket. They too spoke quietly for a moment. Then all four said goodbye with the easy manner of people trying not to turn an extraordinary night into an interrogation.

When Marta and Javier got home, still aroused by everything they’d experienced, they fucked again with an intensity they hadn’t known for years.

The following morning they discovered, to their surprise, that Ana and Sergio had given them two identical keys to their home, one each, without either knowing that the other had one.

4. The Club

A month later, on a Saturday, they were driving to a club in the city. It hadn’t been Sergio’s idea, or even Javier’s. Marta had suggested it over breakfast after checking the admission rules with Ana. She wanted to find out whether the confidence she’d felt at that first dinner would remain when she didn’t know everyone present. Javier agreed on one condition: if either wanted to leave, they would go together, without discussing it until the following day.

‘And what if it’s crowded?’ Marta asked.

‘Then we’ll just have a look.’

‘And what if someone comes over and touches you without asking?’ Javier wanted to know.

‘Then I’ll say no. If someone wants something, they’ll have to ask me.’

The club was in an unremarkable building with a black door and a doorman who took their names. Inside were red lighting, music, a bar and, beyond it, a sofa area, a heated pool, a sauna and a row of rooms with doors that sometimes opened and sometimes didn’t.

‘The rules,’ the receptionist recited mechanically. ‘In the communal areas, you may watch and touch with permission. In the rooms, whatever you like. Condoms are available everywhere.’

She also explained that one person’s consent could not be given by their partner. Marta liked that precision. It reminded her that, however much they enjoyed the evening together, Javier wouldn’t have to speak for her.

Marta noticed her hands were trembling a little. She was more turned on than she could remember ever being. She had a drink. They sat on a sofa and watched.

Couples were fucking in the corners. A man was licking a woman’s pussy on a pouffe while another couple watched nearby. Two women kissed in the pool with their breasts above the water. In one room, its door open, there was a group: three couples on an enormous bed and people sitting around watching.

‘It’s like a documentary,’ Javier whispered.

‘It’s like a dream,’ said Marta.

Marta watched the crowd and decided she wasn’t going to spend the whole night waiting for instructions. She suggested visiting the sauna before looking for Ana and Sergio, who had arranged to join them a little later. Javier followed without trying to predict her next move. The novelty wasn’t merely the setting: it was the way Marta moved through it.

They spent a while in the sauna. Heat, sweat, towels. A calm older man sat beside them and began chatting to Javier about nothing in particular. Marta noticed how he occasionally broke off to look at her, openly but without invading her space. He stopped halfway through the conversation and turned to her.

‘Mind if I?’ the man asked, looking at Marta.

‘Go ahead,’ she said. Javier said nothing. He understood that the answer was hers to give.

The man slipped his fingers beneath her towel, found her wet and slowly rubbed her clitoris while carrying on a conversation about the weather with Javier as though nothing unusual were happening. Marta closed her eyes and let him continue. She came like that, with a stranger touching her pussy in a sauna in front of her husband, while Javier watched her the entire time.

When they left the sauna they found Ana and Sergio, who had just arrived and were waiting beside the bar. Marta told them what had happened and suggested they go into one of the rooms together. There they met another couple, Pablo and Nerea, friendly newcomers in their early thirties. The man from the sauna introduced himself as Fernando and appeared soon afterwards with his own partner, a quiet blonde woman called Elisa. There were eight of them altogether. Before going any further, Marta asked everyone to confirm that they wanted to stay and would respect the rules discussed at reception. When they had all agreed, they closed the door.

What happened in that room lasted two hours.

For the first few minutes, though, nobody hurried. Marta stood beside the door and asked aloud whether anyone would prefer simply to watch. Elisa raised her hand and said that, for the time being, she would. Fernando accepted her decision without argument. Sergio, who once would have set the pace, allowed Marta to guide the conversation. She wasn’t trying to dominate the others: she’d discovered the pleasure of making a suggestion and hearing a clear answer.

Marta lost count of the hands that touched her tits and the mouths that moved over her neck and nipples. They put her on all fours and fucked her in turns — Sergio, Pablo and the man from the sauna — while she buried her face between Nerea’s legs and licked her pussy in time with their thrusts. Across the room, Javier watched with Ana sitting on his face.

When Javier came for the second time that night, it was inside Nerea, who was on all fours in front of him, and Marta saw everything. She watched her husband come, his mouth open, eyes closed and hand gripping another woman’s hip. She came too, Sergio’s cock inside her and Nerea’s tongue on her clitoris, in a long orgasm that made her legs tremble and sent a cry echoing around the room.

They left the club at five in the morning, worn out and happy, with dishevelled hair and marks on their bodies.

In the changing room Javier admitted he’d been more astonished by seeing Marta calmly negotiate with strangers than by anything that followed. She replied that she hardly recognised herself in that confidence either. She had entered afraid of losing control and was leaving certain that, as long as she could make her own choices and stop whenever she wanted, she had no need to surrender it. They left without making promises to anyone.

5. The Agreement

The following day, Sunday, with coffee and toast on the table and the children at their grandparents’ house, they sat down to talk.

‘Rules,’ said Marta.

‘Rules,’ said Javier.

They wrote them on a piece of paper, half-jokingly, but read them through twice. Always use condoms with other people. No meeting anyone from the group without telling the other. No lies. If one of them feels uncomfortable, they say so and everything stops. Consent is never assumed and cannot be given on a partner’s behalf. No recriminations about anything both have freely agreed to; if a boundary changes, it must be respected. And there was something else they didn’t write down but said aloud: it would continue only for as long as they both kept choosing it.

‘And what if one day you fall in love with someone else?’ Marta asked.

‘Then we’ll talk,’ Javier said. ‘But I’m not leaving you.’

She laughed and flicked a breadcrumb at him.

That morning Marta took the two keys into the kitchen and put them beside the sheet of rules. They had decided that each key would represent one person’s consent. Neither could be used alone. If either of them no longer wanted to continue, putting their key away would be enough. There were no vows or speeches, just an agreement they could revisit as often as necessary.

And that was how it all began. First there was a messaging group called ‘The Key’, where they confirmed every meeting in advance. Then came every other Friday at Ana and Sergio’s house, the occasional prearranged visit to the club and a weekend away now and then, with the children staying at their grandparents’. Marta kept her key in her handbag. Javier carried his in a separate pocket. They never entered alone or turned up without warning. Being able to open that door didn’t oblige them to do so.

Marta still loved Javier, and Javier still loved Marta. But now, when they fucked on Saturday nights between eleven and midnight, with the door bolted in case one of the children got up for a drink, it was no longer a routine. It was a choice. And twice a month, on Fridays, there were other bodies, other mouths and other hands. Afterwards they came home and told each other everything, and simply talking about it made Javier hard and Marta wet, until they fucked again as though they’d only just met.

The following March, Marta turned thirty-nine. There was another supermarket cake, presents from the children and a family lunch with the grandparents, much like the year before. But this time she’d spent weeks thinking about a second celebration, one reserved for the four of them. She didn’t want the others to surprise her: she preferred to organise it herself and decide how the night would unfold.

One Friday, on her return from Ana and Sergio’s, Marta searched her handbag for the key and found an envelope she didn’t remember putting there. Inside was a photograph from a hen party: a group of women around a table, untidy glasses and an unfamiliar kitchen. In one corner were Ana and Marta, seven years younger. Marta gazed at the picture until she remembered the conversation they’d had that night, when she was still too ashamed to ask aloud for what she wanted.

When she turned the photograph over, she found a sentence in her own handwriting: ‘One day I want to be the one who opens the door.’ She didn’t remember writing it. Beneath it, on a more recent piece of paper, Ana had added: ‘I promised I’d give this back to you when you dared to choose for yourself.’

Javier came into the lounge and set his key on the table. Months had passed since the first dinner, but he was still surprised by how his wife had learned to suggest things instead of waiting. Marta placed hers next to his. The two pieces of metal made a small clinking sound.

‘Next Friday, at our place,’ Marta said. ‘I want to celebrate my birthday with you. This time I’m hosting.’

Javier smiled and went to fetch his phone to tell the group. Marta put away the photograph, collected both keys and opened the bedroom door.

6. Marta’s Birthday

The children would be spending the night at their grandparents’. Marta had asked Ana and Sergio not to bring presents and told Javier she wanted to take personal charge of every detail. For her, the celebration was about bringing the four of them together and taking the lead.

The following Friday, Marta placed both keys on the lounge table. She had chosen the music, set out four glasses and switched off the main light. Javier watched her movements with a curiosity he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

At ten that evening the doorbell rang. Ana and Sergio were waiting on the other side. Marta welcomed them with a smile, but when Sergio moved to kiss her, she stopped him gently by placing a finger against his lips.

‘Tonight I want the deepest kisses you’ve ever given me. I’m in charge this evening.’

She turned towards Ana and gave her a long peck on the lips, holding her cheeks between her hands.

‘That’s just a little affectionate preview,’ she whispered in her friend’s ear.

Marta deliberately turned the key in the door, allowing the dry click of the lock to mark the beginning of time set apart for them alone. Javier watched from the edge of the sofa, holding his breath, his body taut with anticipation. In his wife’s measured movements he recognised an authority he’d never seen in her before.

Soon after the obligatory champagne was served, Ana proposed a toast to Marta’s thirty-ninth birthday. All four raised their glasses. Marta thanked them and blew them kisses. It was the first time she’d organised a birthday like this, and she wanted everyone to remember the gathering.

The conversation flowed through laughter and trivial remarks. When she decided the moment had come, Marta gently tapped her glass with a teaspoon to attract everyone’s attention.

‘Hello again, friends and fuck buddies! As you all know, we’re celebrating my birthday tonight, and I’d like to make a very special wish.’

Marta paused to study their three faces, then continued.

‘Tonight I’m going to make all of you fuck me. I want you to penetrate me everywhere. I’ve opened every one of my doors to welcome you, and you’ve got the keys. Use the front doors, the back door and any others you can find. I want to feel pleasure like I’ve never felt before.’

Her words brought a burst of applause and, amid the laughter, Sergio shouted:

‘That’s the spirit, Marta! Chastity above all!’

‘Well then, ladies and gentlemen, let’s begin the celebrations with a proper Roman orgy,’ Marta said with a smile.

With an assurance that surprised the others, Marta began by telling Sergio to undress and lie down on the rug. Next she asked Ana to undress her slowly, stroking her tits and pussy as she did so to get her in the mood.

Once she was completely exposed to the others’ gaze, Marta felt her skin tingle. Ana’s caresses had already had their effect, and her anticipation kept growing. She approached Sergio, spread a little cream left over from the birthday cake over his genitals and cupped his balls and cock in both hands. Then she began to lick them with deliberate slowness until the erection produced by her tongue was unmistakable. She added another dollop of cream to the head of his cock and mimicked someone licking an ice-cream cone.

‘Sergio, you taste so, so good.’

The room seemed to grow several degrees hotter. Nobody present could disguise how aroused that scene had made them.

Next she straddled him and positioned his cock at the entrance to her vagina, feeling the first firm, warm contact between their bodies before allowing him to penetrate her.

‘Put it in very slowly,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve got a massive cock, and my little pussy has adored it since that first night. I miss it when I can’t get my hands on my husband’s cock.’

Ana knelt beside her, her expert, gentle hands moving over Marta’s thighs, travelling slowly up the curve of her hips and tracing a path of damp caresses that stopped exactly at her centre.

Ana’s tongue worked over her nipples, hardening them. Then she began kissing her impatiently, devouring her mouth. Marta stroked Ana’s clitoris in slow circles until Ana let out a trembling sigh. At the same time Sergio kept moving into her, inch by inch, with such a deep, measured rhythm that Marta felt her whole body catch fire.

‘You’re so wet and hot tonight,’ Sergio murmured hoarsely, without taking his eyes off her.

Marta closed her eyes for an instant, surrendering to the sensations: Sergio’s pressure, the heat of Ana’s tongue and the heavy air filling the room. Her back arched naturally, guided by a pleasure that no longer asked permission.

Javier couldn’t tear his eyes from the scene. By now his cock was so hard that his trousers were painfully tight, as though it demanded to be freed. He undressed and approached the trio slowly. Sensing him, Ana looked up and deliberately parted her lips to take Javier’s cock into her mouth and wet it thoroughly.

Watching her husband’s cock slide into Ana’s mouth while she herself was being fucked only intensified Marta’s desire.

‘Darling, fuck me up the arse, please. I’ve still got that door open for you.’

Like a perfectly synchronised dance, Javier withdrew from Ana’s mouth and, with his cock thoroughly lubricated by the blowjob he’d just received, entered Marta from behind. He began gently until her sphincter accommodated the pressure, gradually stretching until his cock could slide in and out of her anus at an increasingly rapid pace.

The four of them ended up sprawled across the rug, utterly exhausted and surrounded by the smell of sweat, wine and semen. Nobody was in a hurry to get up or get dressed.

Once they’d recovered, Marta dismissed the gathering with her own peculiar blessing.

‘You’re fucking brilliant, you lot. Go in peace.’

‘Thanks, Marta. We’ve had a fantastic time,’ Ana and Sergio replied. They kissed her and left the house.

The next morning, the lounge still bore the silent traces of the previous night: empty glasses, cushions out of place and a feeling of absolute satisfaction. The children were still at their grandparents’, so the morning passed in an unusually peaceful fashion. Marta and Javier had breakfast in the kitchen, with the same coffee and toast as always, but the atmosphere between them had changed completely.

‘Do you regret anything?’ Javier asked, looking at her over his cup.

‘Not a thing,’ Marta replied with a confident smile, remembering every second of the orgy and the authority with which she’d directed the celebration.

They went over the rules of their agreement in their minds, conscious that the birthday hadn’t been an exception but the final confirmation of their new life. The brass keys rested together on the worktop, tinkling faintly whenever something was set down beside them. They knew their alternate Fridays, dinners with Ana and Sergio and visits to the club would happen again, but they would do so with the absolute certainty that desire was no longer a duty or an administrative routine: it was a free, shared choice.

When they finally went to collect the children that afternoon, Marta felt that her marriage had been reborn from its most intimate foundations, transformed for ever into an open door that she herself had learned to unlock.